Scrambling hastily to his feet, somewhat the worse for his upset, Lanky looked around to see what luck had befallen his partner in the mad attempt of trying to halt a frightened, galloping bronco. "Oh, Frank!" he called out; and then his heart seemed to stand still with dread as he glimpsed a still figure huddled in a heap on the prairie some ten feet away, showing that Frank Allen had also been struck down. CHAPTER II THE SUDDEN ALARM Just before Lanky Wallace was struck by the rush of the stolen bronco and knocked to the ground, he had let out the cowboy whoop for help. It reached the ears of Hoptoad Atkins, the smallest rustler in the Rockspur bunch, as he was emerging from the bunk-house to see what the weather promised for the morning, he having a long gallop before him. At the same moment he heard the racket over at the horse corral, and sensing trouble of some sort sprang back into the house with a shout. "Stampede of the ponies! Get out of here, everybody, with a rush!" The cowboys came pouring out, and made for the corral in a string, the longest-legged being in the fore. Lanky, they found bending anxiously over Frank, who, having been knocked senseless, was just beginning to show signs of returning consciousness. "Thief got away with one of our mounts," hurriedly explained Lanky. "He bowled both of us over when he came out of the corral like a tornado. Little critter with the biggest head you ever saw--been prowling around here at night, twice now. We tried to trap him in the circle, but he was too quick on the get-away!" "Which way did he lope, Lanky?" demanded Lige Smith, the wiry and experienced foreman of the ranch. "Reckon it was over west; but I'm a bit hazy after that knockout," returned the boy. "I sure heard far-off hoofbeats in that quarter when I busted out of the shack!" announced Zander Forbes emphatically. "Git ther ponies," broke in old Jerry Brime, a veteran puncher with the enthusiasm of a man half his age. "Mebbe we kin straddle him yet before he gits to the Double Z outfit! Whoopee!" A rush was made into the corral, and lively hustling followed as each puncher picked out his special mount and roped him by the light of the moon's bright rays. "Good luck, boys!" bellowed the still excited Lanky, as the cowboys galloped madly away. There was a little regret in his heart because he could not leave Frank Allen and join in the mad chase. By this time Frank had pretty well recovered after his painful experience. He would feel a bit sore for some days, but could be thankful his injuries were no more serious than a few bruises. "We made a fine mess of it that time, Lanky," he observed, when it was found that no bones had been broken by his nasty fall. "Huh! didn't move quick enough! A matter of ten seconds; but that was plenty to queer the game, all right."